Midnight Magic, page 184
“So is the door like the gateway to heaven or hell?” he asked, resting his cheek on his knee. He was pretty—pretty in that soft way I’d always liked my men to be. Too bad he was dead. I was a spirit medium—with a touch of my hand and a little willpower, he could be as solid as any living person, temporarily at least—but I didn’t sleep with ghosts. I turned my gaze back to the house. No one had arrived yet. The wife was still occupied with her chores.
“Depends on the door and who’s walking through it.”
Ghost Boy wrapped his arms around his legs and blinked away tears. His eyes were so sad. “I just . . . I wish I knew how I died,” he whispered. “Or why.”
I sighed. “I’ll do my best to help you.”
“Thanks, Sekani,” he said as he smiled. His gray eyes softened and I looked away. If I could help him remained to be seen, but I was going to try.
Even something small about painting might be a clue. Maybe he had talent. Maybe if I asked the right questions— “So you think you’re any good with a paint brush?”
“Umm . . . yeah.” When I glanced at him, he was looking down at his hands again. A smile played on his lips. “I think I might be. When I think about painting I feel like I just want to gush about every detail I could put down on a canvas. So I’m either really good at it or delusional.”
I chuckled. “Which is it?”
“I guess we’ll find out,” he said. I looked at the house once more. To be fair, most cheating spouses didn’t bring their illicit lover to their home. The chances of getting caught were higher.
“Do we start stalking her when she leaves the house?” Ghost Boy asked.
“You should be good at that considering the last three weeks.”
“I didn’t stalk you,” he huffed. “I haunted you.”
“Same difference,” I retorted.
“You should be happy. Now you have a cute ghost as eye candy.”
“One,” I held up a finger. “You’re assuming I think you’re cute. Two,” I held up a second finger before he could smart off. “Even if I thought you were cute, you’re dead. I’m not into spectrophilia. If that’s your kink, might I suggest solo masturbation?”
“You’re a pervert. Ghost’s can’t masturbate.”
I lifted an eyebrow; my lips twitched. “How do you know? Have you tried?”
“N—no,” he stuttered, shaking his head. His hair fell into his eyes and he brushed it away. “I just . . . I’m dead. Why would I? Are you trying to say there are ghost orgies going on?” His gaze flickered around, dancing to the house and back to me. “I never even saw another ghost.”
I frowned. “You haven’t?”
How was that possible? Ghosts were everywhere in this fucking city. Right now, one of them was jogging down the sidewalk on their morning run without a care in the world. Chances were, they didn’t realize they were dead yet. It was only a matter of time.
“No.” He shrugged. “I guess they all know to stay away from you.”
I scoffed. They’d learned there was no point in bothering me—I wasn’t going to help them no matter how much they begged, pleaded, and went full-out poltergeist on my ass—but stay away? No. Plenty still followed me around, hoping they’d be the one I acknowledged. None had succeeded in gaining my attention, not until Ghost Boy.
Lucky him, I guess.
GHOST BOY
Today, the woman did nothing but clean her house. We left when her husband came home and Sekani drove us straight to a craft store.
“I’ve done this before.” Excitement rushed through me as we walked through the art section. I remembered picking up pencils and sketch books, tossing them into a cart so I could move along to canvas and paints. Reaching out, I pressed my fingers against one of the black spiral-bound books. It was easy to touch and hold things—I’d learned how while haunting Sekani. If nothing else came of this, he’d made me a better ghost.
“Get whatever you want,” Sekani said.
I put the book in the cart, then a pack of pencils and some erasers. I didn’t know how I knew what I was looking for, but I did know. Some brands were better than others, some prices were too high and not worth it.
When we got to the canvas and paint, I stopped. Did I like bright colors or darker ones? What type of paint?
“I don’t remember.”
“Get a little of each,” Sekani said.
I looked at him. He was pushing the cart and hadn’t complained about anything so far, but what was he going to do with all this stuff if . . . when my door appeared? Now that Sekani was helping me, I didn’t want to be selfish. What if he changed his mind? “I . . . I don’t want to waste too much of your money.”
“I’ve got plenty. Get whatever you need.”
Did I have him all wrong? Maybe he wasn’t a bad guy. Maybe he just didn’t like ghosts invading his space. To be fair, that was understandable.
I added a mixture of different paints to the cart. “Thank you.”
We walked to the counter. The couple in front of us got a few things that looked like the start of a DIY project. A guy in the line over had a basket that looked like ours.
“You paint?” the cashier asked as he started to ring up all the stuff I’d grabbed.
“No,” Sekani answered. “The ghost stalking me does though. Possibly.”
The guy did a double take and swallowed. How do you respond to something like that? He either thought Sekani was a dick, or crazy. He had no way of knowing there really was a stalker-ghost trying to flex their artistic skills. I giggled.
Sekani paid for everything and grabbed the bags. “Thanks. The safe combination is sixty-nine-forty-two. Don’t spend it on drugs.”
The guy’s eyes widened as we walked away.
Sekani loaded the bags in the car and we got in. He started out of the parking lot.
I quirked an eyebrow. “Safe combination?”
“His grandmother was shouting it in his ear. Pretty sure she was deaf.”
“Wait.” Some old lady was yelling, right there? I hadn’t seen or heard a thing. “Another ghost? So can ghosts not see each other?”
“Typically, they can.” Sekani’s eyes shifted from the road to me.
“Why can’t I?” Had the old lady seen me? What was wrong with me if ghosts could see one another—typically—but I couldn’t see them and they couldn’t see me?
“Fuck if I know.”
“Great. I’m broken,” I muttered. How could I get being a ghost wrong?
“You’re dead,” Sekani corrected.
I sighed and combed my fingers through my hair. “Yeah. Maybe if we go back to that street another ghost might know who I am?”
He shook his head. “No. I’m not talking to any more ghosts.”
“But it could be a clue.”
“Sucks to be you then,” he countered.
“Why do you hate ghosts so much?” He could see us and I’m sure maybe it was annoying but why would anyone go three weeks being haunted and not say anything?
“Are you always this full of questions?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” It’s not like I could remember. But when you didn’t know anything it was normal to ask a lot of questions.
Sekani glared then turned his eyes back to the road. “Let’s play the quiet game.”
I started to protest but he leveled me with another glare. I snapped my mouth closed. The drive home was silent, just like he’d wanted. He carried the bags of art supplies up to his apartment and opened the door to let us in. I fished around for the sketchbook and pencils while Sekani went through to the kitchen.
I started to draw but I could hear him banging pots and pans around, no doubt making himself dinner. I remembered food. I missed food. I think maybe I was the kind of person who had a sweet tooth. Someone who preferred cake over steak. Whatever he was making smelled good.
Was it normal for ghosts to smell things? Could they taste things as well?
My mind wandered, skipping from one thought to the next before I recalled what Sekani said earlier in the day. He had to be pulling my leg. Ghosts couldn’t actually masturbate . . . could they? If they could, I hadn’t had the urge to since I’d died. Though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice that Sekani was handsome as fuck.
His hair—so black it was nearly navy blue in the right light—was short on the sides and long on the top. His hard blue eyes, bright with some unknown inner light, could see through you no matter if you were alive or dead. Long legs, narrow waist, well-toned abdomen and broad shoulders. His arms were wrapped in muscle. His tall frame was built, like someone who took pride in their appearance, someone who worked out even when they didn’t want to and tried to balance out their meals. Even if they counted coffee as one of them. I turned the page and started a new sketch.
Lost in my drawing, I didn’t notice the sounds coming from the kitchen had stopped until the book was being pulled from my hands.
“Hey! Give that back.”
“This is . . . creepy.” A smile played on Sekani’s lips. “Good, but creepy.”
“Shut up. It’s not creepy,” I said, yanking the book out of his hands.
“If nothing else, it proves you’ve done your fair share of staring.” Was that laughter in his voice? Was he . . . teasing me? “Someone’s been watching me while I sleep.”
“I . . . well . . . Only because I was debating if I should wake you in the middle of the night,” I defended myself. And besides, what else was I supposed to do? I didn’t sleep.
“Uh huh. Keep telling yourself that.” He sat on the sofa with his plate of food. “You think you can sketch yourself?” He forked up a bite of the pasta he’d made.
“Good enough to show people? Yeah. I think I can.” I looked down at the page. I’d managed a good rendition of Sekani, so I guess I was some kind of artist after all. At the very least it was something I was interested in, something I enjoyed and was passionate about.
“You’ve got talent,” Sekani said. I was happy ghosts couldn’t blush.
“Thanks.” I turned the page. Sekani turned the TV on and navigated to YouTube, finding a channel he favored.
RiverStyxs was one of those ghost investigation channels—they traveled all over the world checking out haunted places, uploading once or twice a week depending on the location. Sometimes they didn’t find anything; other times they did. It made the videos a little more credible that not every supposedly haunted place was actually haunted. “I’d have thought you’d hate this kind of stuff.”
“When it’s not real, but River is legit,” he said around a mouthful of food. “Plus, I like to keep an eye on the dumbass. This way I can do that without having to talk to him.”
“You know him?” And River could actually see ghosts?
“Brother.” Sekani hit play on the latest upload.
“What’s up, guys? It’s your favorite ghostbusting team back at it again,” River said, upbeat. He always seemed to vibrate on camera; everything about him was constantly in motion. “Today we’re checking out Chaternella Asylum. It’s said to be one of the most active spots in the world.”
“If he can see ghosts, why would he go there?” I’d figured Sekani’s brother would be more like Sekani, stay as far from ghosts as he could. Instead, he hunted them down to . . . what? Have tea?
“Because he’s a dumbass.” Sekani said, but there was a crease in his brow. Was he . . . worried?
“I have the lovely Anna with me today, she’s going to be manning our live viewers. Jake is back at our base watching the monitors, and as always our sexy-ass cameraman Erik will be following us into the belly of the beast.”
“Asking for trouble as always, idiot,” Sekani muttered.
River slipped into the asylum. The first ten minutes was the normal stuff—giving everyone the history of the place, stories of sightings—as they wandered deeper into the dark. The set-up reminded me of a low-budget horror movie—the kind designed to scare the crap out of you without all the CGI.
“More ghosts there than dollar bills at a strip club and he’s bouncing around like a goddamn junkie, high on speed with a full pill bottle burning a hole in his pocket. Fucking idiot.” Sekani shoved another bite in his mouth and chewed aggressively.
“You can see the ghosts?” I couldn’t see anything.
“No. The camera can’t actually pick them up. But see how the image gets fuzzy from time to time? It’s because the camera is detecting something it can’t see, trying to focus on it.”
I shivered. That was unsettling.
“River, I just felt a cold spike,” Anna said.
“No you didn’t.” Sekani groaned. “Ghosts aren’t cold or hot. They’re nothing, you idiot. Fuck, River. How much do you pay these people?”
River rushed towards her to look at their detector. “Oh man, I think we’re getting close to something.” River said, excitement in his voice. “If someone’s there, give us a sign.” Sekani facepalmed. I guess I understood why he was so annoyed. If there were a lot of ghosts—or none at all—River would know. “If someone—” He stopped, stone still as his gaze jumped around.
“Is that part of the act?” I asked.
“No.” Sekani shifted to the edge of the sofa. “Something nasty’s there. He’s scared. He always rubs his chest like that when he’s fucking terrified.”
“Back out guys,” River said, his voice taking on a serious note. Erik and Anna started to back away. I gasped, covering my mouth when River’s body was thrown and he slammed into a brick wall.
Sekani was on his feet as if he could lunge through the TV, fists clenched at his sides. “I’m gonna kill him. I’m gonna fucking make you a ghost, River Young!”
Anna was screaming. The camera jumped and the picture was nothing but fuzz, then the video cut off.
Sekani started pacing but the cut was quick—River and his crew were now in a hotel.
“Hey guys,” River said. He had a bandage on his head and a splint on his finger. “I got a little banged up but as you see, we’re okay. It was pretty intense there for a minute. Anna broke my finger trying to run away.” He laughed.
Anna smacked his arm. “Shut up. Don’t tell people that.”
“Look in a mirror. Look in a mirror. Look in a goddamn mirror,” Sekani muttered over and over as he sat on the edge of the sofa. He looked . . . I couldn’t describe it. He was pissed—the kind of anger that rolled off a person in waves—but . . . he was also scared—really scared.
“RiverStyxs is going on a little break until my finger heals, but don’t worry. I’ll be back before you know it.” River waved along with his crew, and the video ended. My gaze dropped to the view counter. It had been uploaded sixteen hours ago and already had over a million views.
“You idiot!” Sekani exploded from the sofa. “You couldn’t look in one goddamn mirror?! I am killing you. Just you fucking wait.”
“What do mirrors have to do with anything?” I asked.
“Have you looked at your reflection lately?”
“No,” I admitted. “I’m scared to.”
Would I look awful? Maybe it would show all the horror my body suffered when I died, or my decaying body.
“You can’t see yourself. I mean, you can, but you’ll be fuzzy. Light doesn’t know what to do with you. Move through you? Move around you? And when a person is possessed by a hostile spirit, their image becomes fuzzy too—if they can see spirits, at least.” He sighed and rubbed his face.
One of the older videos started to play.
I really hoped River was okay.
SEKANI AELOR
There were two ways to become a spirit medium—supernatural at all, actually: genetics, or event-based. Me, I was born with a little extra-spicy DNA. Who gave me the extra spice—a parent or some distant relative—I didn’t know. River, though . . . his affinity for ghosts was event-based. And my fault.
You hang around a guy who hangs around ghosts long enough, and shit happens—accidents happen. You get possessed once, twice, maybe three times if you’re really unlucky. Maybe someone uses your door—because we all have doors that follow us around, even if they aren’t available to use while we’re alive—and ghosts stop being imaginary. Become very fucking real.
Me, I stopped fucking with ghosts a few years ago—four now. River though, he dived deeper every day. He loved it, being able to see them, even if he fucking sucked at it. The weak ones—the ones that did the standard haunting, like my current roommate—he could pick up easily. They came to him like oxygen. But the big nasties he encountered when he went to places like that asylum—places branded as the most active spots in the world—those he couldn’t detect until their hand was around his throat and they were throwing him like a rag doll down a dark, dirty hallway.
Dumbass. He was a complete fucking dumbass.
I stopped pacing to check the time stamp on the video. It was posted sixteen hours ago. By now, he had to have looked in a mirror. If he was possessed, he would have fucking called. Right? Or would he . . . I shook my head. No. He would call me, he knew I was best suited to help him shake off a hostile spirit riding his ass like he was an enraged bull at a county fair.
Fuck. I shoved my fingers into my hair and sat on the edge of the sofa.
It was almost bedtime, but there was no way in hell I was gonna be able to sleep until I spoke to River. I needed to be sure he was okay.
“Why not call, if you’re worried?” Ghost Boy asked.
Just as I snatched my phone off the coffee table, there was a knock on the door. “For fuck’s sake,” I muttered as I stood. It was probably Mrs. Taffett. Maybe she needed money for diapers, or to know if I could spare some milk for Isla. I didn’t have time for her right now. Still, I pushed to my feet, shoved my phone in my pocket and yanked my door open to see the one person I desperately wanted to see.
“You dumbass,” I sneered, grabbing River by the arm and yanking him into the apartment. One of my least favorite people in the whole fucking world followed him in, but right now I couldn’t deal with him.
“Good to see you too,” River said.
